


Bath Night

by PlaneJane



Category: Eagle of the Ninth Series - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early months of setting up their farm, Marcus and Esca don’t have the means to bathe every day, as was the norm for Romans who could afford it. Bath night, therefore, becomes a pretty special occasion. Though it’s what they do afterwards that’s most special of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath Night

Things are certainly different from the home comforts Marcus is used to, here in their little wattle and daub cottage on the Downs. That’s not to say he has a want or need for being pampered: the march from Rome to Britain and six months spent mostly in the open, over the wall in Caledonia, will attest to that.

Nonetheless, a prolonged stay at Uncle Aquila’s house has spoiled him, according to Esca. Teasing Marcus about his shortcomings is the surest way to bring a smile to Esca’s face. Marcus knows it’s done with truest affection and pays it no mind from Esca where he could not tolerate it from anyone else. This is the nature of love, apparently. His mother told him that long ago, before he was in a position to understand. Lucky for him, her words remained in his heart long after she was gone.

Uncle Aquila’s house, though modest by the standards of the homes of many naturalised Romans, is a veritable palace compared to Marcus’ and Esca’s current situation. While they’re establishing the farm they’re unable to afford much beyond a square roof over their heads, a fireplace and a bed. And though Marcus can happily forego all sorts of indulgences, he will readily admit to missing the ritual of the bath.

Esca knew from the very beginning it would be Marcus’ biggest lament—coming in from a day’s hard labour in the field or pen, stinking of sweat and sheep—and having to content himself with a bucket and a cloth. Which is why Esca did his level best to accommodate Marcus’ need to soak and managed to acquire what can only be described as a barrel. Because that’s exactly what it is.

It takes an inordinate amount of time to fill the thing. And there’s no warming up that amount of water – they don’t have the pots, fuel or time. But it’s better than nothing and most importantly of all, it’s what they do after they’ve bathed that’s become the real focus of bath night.

It’s Esca’s turn to use the water first. They have to share, or else they’d never be able to both bathe on the same evening. Marcus watches Esca lower himself into the age-dark wooden vessel, clenching his jaw with a shudder.

“Have some mead – it will take the edge off the chill.”

Esca drinks greedily, passes back his cup and begins to scrub with a cloth and the soft paste they use for cleaning their hair as well as their bodies. Marcus has had no choice but to get used to using this _soap_ , not the oil and strigil that the Romans favour. They save the precious scented oil Uncle Aquila gifted them for use on these unhurried nights, for the things Esca is teaching Marcus to enjoy without censure, in their private haven away from the prying, judgemental eyes of citizens who cannot begin to comprehend what Esca is to Marcus, and Marcus to Esca.

“When the winter’s really upon us we should fill this in the morning and set it by the fire.” As he speaks, Esca reaches behind himself, his shoulder rising and falling with the movement of his arm, and Marcus knows exactly where Esca’s fingers go. It makes Marcus tingle with anticipation.

He chuckles and takes a slow sip for himself from the refilled cup. It’s potent and sweet – perfect. “I admire your determination.” In all honesty, Marcus can see bath night becoming far less frequent once Samhain is over.

“It’s worth it.” When Esca smiles shyly with his endearment, Marcus’ heart stills for a moment. “Will you be ready to pass me the sheet?”

Esca doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s curling himself down and under the water to rinse out his hair. The water splashes around the rim as he fully submerges; it laps and licks his shoulders, splattering his hair flat as he comes up again, gasping and pink even in the fading light. Esca leaps like a salmon on its way upstream, out of the barrel with one light step on the small bench at its side, and into Marcus’ arms and the blanket of linen.

Marcus wraps Esca tight and kisses his wet lips. “I’ll be quick.”

It is a far less elegant scene, when Marcus climbs in. He’s bigger and his legs don’t fold up like Esca’s. Marcus half grins at that recollection, his blush not nearly enough to warm the water in the barrel, but plenty enough to colour his cheeks, he’s quite sure. He can’t shrink down and dunk his head as Esca does, and has to make do with a jug to rinse out the soap from his hair. Esca always helps, digging his fingers into Marcus’ scalp as he works the soap into a lather, telling him the pressure will bring the blood to his head and stave off baldness. Marcus isn’t vain, and if he loses his hair he will not be like Julius Caesar, training what strands he has at the sides over the top of his head like mare’s tails. Let Esca have his fun and think the amount of hair on his head bothers him. As Marcus gets to his middle and feels the soft handful of flesh at his side he considers there are more immediate threats to his appearance.

Esca is watching him. “It’s fat for the winter. Stop worrying about it.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m _washing._ ” Marcus quickly moves the cloth downwards, pulls back his foreskin and cleans his cock.

Esca is right, if the winter is harsh they won’t be able to afford much of this indulgence and Marcus has been thinking about ... well, he’s been thinking a lot. Marcus glances at Esca, who is busy shaking out the furs and pillows and rearranging them this way and that. Marcus takes his chance to reach behind as Esca did, to press the cloth with a dab of soap down between the cheeks of his arse, pushing firmly against his hole. He’s let Esca touch him there and work his finger inside deep enough that Marcus once and for all understood not just the enjoyment to be had by caressing his entrance, but the hot-sharp flash of being roused from deep inside, in that place that can only be found by being breached.

He wonders where this night will take him. He travels the path slowly, trying not to stumble or look back. He keeps his onward struggle to himself but Esca has an eye for all Marcus’ troubles and never teases him about this. He only tells him that Marcus must not force his body to go where his heart cannot yet follow.

Marcus can feel his leg getting tight just as Esca comes over with the jug.

“Hurry, hurry, the air is chilly.”

Esca works fast, massaging the soap and sluicing water over Marcus’ head, then pulling at his arm to have him out. It wasn’t a soak by any stretch of the imagination, but then it wasn’t exactly a bath either. Marcus is more than happy to stand up. Getting out is more undignified than getting in, hanging onto the rim all slippery and shivering and trying not to lose a footing on the step stool. Esca won’t let him fall, not unless he goes down with him. Marcus is as certain of that as the rising of the sun.

Marcus sits heavily on the side of the bed and bends down to dry his calves and feet. Esca slots behind him with his chest to Marcus’ back, both of them cold-skinned and slightly damp, like fresh-caught river fish. Esca’s hands slide up to Marcus’ shoulders and knead at the muscle there, probing out every knot and easing them free with forceful fingertips.

Sitting back up and letting his head fall back to Esca’s shoulder, Marcus lets his eyes close and revels in the attentions his tight muscles are receiving.

Esca says in his ear, “Let me do your back and your legs. You’re tight as a bow-string.” Esca guides Marcus face-down to the furs. “No falling asleep though.”

“I think the rut has rubbed off on me. No chance of sleep until that’s seen to.”

The air in the woods is heavy with red deer musk, as they come into their rutting season, and their low growls and clashing horns can be heard at daybreak echoing over the dawn chorus.

“That makes two of us.”

With Marcus flat on his stomach and Esca kneeling at his side, Esca kneads at the flesh on Marcus’ back. Soon Marcus is floating in a half dream where his body uncoils and the aches and pains lift like morning dew. Esca works his way downwards. Marcus drifts on a balmy sea of scents; the fur beneath him, the faint musk from his underarms, just there beyond the sharp smell of soap, and best of all, the oil infused with lavender, heady-sweet and calming.

Marcus is dimly aware of Esca shifting. Esca massages the hard knotted muscle along the scar on Marcus’ lame thigh. His fingers slide back and forth in a sure and practised rhythm, gradually working their way down towards his knee then coming back up again.

Without warning, as the abused muscle yields to Esca’s curative ministrations, Esca moves the sweep of his touch across the back of Marcus’ thigh and down between his legs, skimming over his trapped balls, sending a rousing jolt straight to his cock. Marcus groans and Esca huffs a laugh.

“Definitely, the rut has made you jumpy.”

Once more, Esca moves and Marcus is aware of hot breath lingering for a moment over his buttock. He has no time to deliberate Esca’s motive, as the breath is swiftly followed by feeling of sharp pressure. Esca bit him! Marcus’ eyes fly open as he raises his head in indignation which dies to nothing the moment he sees Esca grinning.

“I couldn’t resist.” Esca is delightfully unapologetic.

“You ate two bowls of stew, I would have thought your hunger sated.”

“Not nearly. Put your head back down. It would be remiss for me to neglect where you cleaned so thoroughly.”

Marcus’ heart skips a beat – Esca saw. Marcus swallows back any noise of protest that might wilfully try to escape his lips unbidden. Instead he moves his left thigh outwards, in invitation for Esca to climb between his legs, uncertain of Esca’s intent.

Esca does not do as Marcus expects, but teases his fingers lightly over the mound of his backside before prowling over Marcus, pressing kisses between his shoulder blades and whispering, “If you wish for me to stop you only have to ask it.”

Marcus nods and follows it with, “Go slow. Very slow.”

Esca edges back between Marcus’ thighs, the hard line of his cock momentarily brushing against Marcus’ skin. The contact is as quickly gone as he mouths his way down Marcus’ spine. The furs pull and shift as Esca descends, settling his weight to one side, his arm pressed against Marcus’ right hip. Next, using one fingertip, Esca traces slippery circles over the skin on Marcus’ lower back. That single finger circles and edges lower until it is at the cleft of Marcus’ arse and Esca’s breath is gusting around it.

Without thought, Marcus parts his legs wider. Esca responds, pressing his finger in the crease. It’s warm, slick-slides easily from the oil on Marcus’ back. When the caress is soft it is only a feeling of touch, private and precious. When Esca presses and circles Marcus’ entrance it’s like the touch has been set aflame.

 _“Oh, oh.”_ Marcus cannot stop the gasps; they echo in his ears above the crackle of the fire and Esca’s panting breath.

Esca continues his caress and Marcus waits for the breach, his mouth gone dry with anticipation. The first time, the last time, he almost reached his climax without a touch to his cock. He had groaned and trembled as Esca fingered him while they lay on their sides, Esca curled behind him. Esca had instructed Marcus to finish himself with his fist that time, assuring him that next time he would pleasure Marcus in the same way but for longer. He’d known Marcus was already overwhelmed before he knew it himself, only feeling the tears on his cheeks when Esca kissed them away after he’d spilled into his shaking fist.

This time there is no breach. Esca’s face rests upon the rise of Marcus’ buttock for long breaths before Marcus feels the lick of Esca’s tongue on his hot skin.

Marcus’ cock is hard and alert, wedged between his belly and the bed. He is content not to touch it or have it touched, though the wet suck of Esca’s mouth on his cock is another pleasure that he now enjoys without remorse or shame. He knows that Esca likes it, too. For how could he not reciprocate when Esca is his partner and equal in all things? And these acts of passion are not meant for them as rites or laws or punishments or degradation - but always gifts of love, freely given and received. He reminds himself of this, just as Esca told him, repeating it like a mantra, knowing his heart speeds to catch up with the wants of his body.

Marcus does not shift and hint that he would like Esca’s mouth on his cock, but waits patiently for Esca to make the breach, if that is his plan. If he makes a sound that is a needy whine, he is also not ashamed. These noises are the language of lovers and say more than words could ever do.

Esca hushes him and licks over the other buttock. The trail of moisture cools and heats in swift succession and before Marcus is able to wonder what will follow he feels Esca move again. He cannot help but look down, at Esca on his haunches; elbows planted firmly either side of Marcus’ hips. Esca glances up and says, “You are so good, so good for me. Part your legs wide - as wide as is comfortable. All right?”

Marcus feels his stomach roll. Esca’s face is above his crease and when his legs part he will be exposed, that tight wrinkled hole will be there for Esca to see. It’s one thing to be touched, in the safety of darkness while Esca’s lips brush kisses over the back of his neck and into his hair. It is quite another for those kisses to touch him in that private place, to taste and smell him there. He doesn’t realise he frowns, that his brow is drawn in - not until Esca crawls up over him again and kisses his face, his forehead, rubbing at the tightened skin.

“There, there, my heart. It’s all right,” Esca soothes. “I wish you could see how lovely you are, how strong you look.”

“I am all right. I am. And as I recall, I did not ask you to stop.”

Esca smirks. It’s feral, his eyes wicked-bright. They reignite the desire in Marcus so that he is encouraged.

“Go on. Show me.”

Esca bites into Marcus’ shoulder. It leaves a sharp sting that throbs for a fleeting moment and leaves Marcus hungry to be touched again. Esca plants himself between Marcus’ thighs and pushes them apart wide, pushing his left knee up higher than his weaker right. Marcus was at first expecting Esca to fetch the oil and slick his fingers. Esca only used one finger before and said that next time he would use a second, maybe a third. But Esca has changed his plans; his face descends to the top of Marcus’ opened crease and licks him there, kisses and licks again.

Marcus knows what Esca plans to do and wants to experience this, yet he cannot stop the hot flare of fear that rages over his skin and prickles and burns. Esca’s tongue presses hard, in and out, up and down, around Marcus’ entrance. Marcus cannot fathom why, in this part of his body that is for the basest of functions, this place that should disgust and repel him, want sparks like lightning and flashes through his cock. He scarcely knows whether to push down against the fur and ease the aching in his cock, or shove his hips up to Esca’s face and open himself wider. It seems his body decides on the latter instinctively. Esca’s fingers prise apart the cheeks of his buttocks, exposing him further – a sign of his acute awareness of each of Marcus’ slight movements and barely stifled moans. Marcus closes his eyes and lets Esca take him where he will.

Esca’s tongue is unrelenting. When Marcus feels Esca work it past his entrance, his hole relaxing and giving, until Esca’s tongue is finally delving inside him, Marcus is quivering with need. He _wants_ Esca inside him, wants it more than he can say.

Before Marcus is ready to lose him, Esca stops, breathing heavily. “Look at you, open for me. Marcus, I want to you to feel yourself. Can you do that?”

Marcus is bereft and does not want Esca to stop, not when he is on the brink of climax. But Esca’s hand is there on his, gently guiding Marcus’ fingers down. His hole is wet with spit and oil and he feels it open, loose. The shock of it escapes his lips.

He’s a fool, he knows it. Esca has opened himself and slid down Marcus’ cock, spending over his belly in rapture. Esca has lain on his back, legs wide, bent up to his chest, ready for Marcus to enter him. He was like this, loose and open, and afterwards his hole went back to normal, otherwise he would not have to work open again each time.

“What now?”

“I’m going to suck you, with my fingers inside you. I just wanted you to feel yourself, how responsive you are. You are a great lover, Marcus - so sensitive and your body, it makes me hungry with lust.” Esca punctuates his words with tender kisses. “Turn onto your back.”

Esca slides two fingers in at once and Marcus feels full. That is intense enough, but when Esca pushes further in, Marcus’ hips buck off the bed and he lets out a startled cry.

Esca looks pleased, very pleased. “Not all men like it this much. You were made for this. You are so lucky, to have so many places that respond like this to touch.”

Crouched over Marcus, Esca’s words drip like honey from a spoon. He lifts Marcus’ cock with his other hand and places his cockhead on his tongue, suckling him in and out in time with his fist. Marcus feels his balls tighten, lost to the ecstasy of taking and being taken, not sure where one begins and the other ends.

When Marcus comes, the pulses of his orgasm twist up through his balls and cock. Over that he feels his hole clenching around Esca’s fingers, mirroring his orgasm and intensifying it. He growls like a hound as he fills Esca’s mouth, unable to stop himself, then slumps listless as the waves of his climax subside. Esca keeps him in his mouth as he softens and swallows his spend, finally releasing Marcus when the feeling is too much. Last of all, Esca withdraws his fingers.

In the faded light, Marcus begins to awaken all over: feeling the tickle of the fur beneath his fingers, hearing the soft whistle of wind curling beneath the door, and seeing his dear, dear Esca, kneeling between his spread legs. Marcus can see the flush blossomed over Esca’s shoulders and across the tops of his cheeks; the ruddy red jut of his cock, glistening at the top with a spilling bead of fluid. Esca strokes his cock loosely and looks at Marcus through hooded lids, his chest heaving from his arousal. Marcus reaches up for Esca’s cock and feels his fevered look of want burning over his skin. Fisting Esca is not enough, somehow, to sate that much desire.

Marcus’ cock is limp and spent - no chance of him fucking Esca. He pulls Esca in close and reaches for his hole, teasing the puckered skin there with rubbing strokes, and resolves to finish what they’ve started.

Their faces are close and Esca punctuates fleeting kisses with a slow hip-rolling rut against Marcus’ belly. He’s slight, limber and easy to manoeuvre. All it takes is Marcus’ hands to firmly lift up Esca’s hips and push him downwards. Esca’s eyes are questioning. Marcus has not closed his thighs as he does sometimes. Indeed, he keeps his legs wide and slowly says, “I can hold up my good leg. Will that be enough for you to move inside me?”

“Marcus, it’s all right. I’m close, very close. You don’t need to.” Esca’s eyes are bright, wet.

“Esca. I haven’t told you to stop yet.”

Esca will never ask this of Marcus, and Marcus has never asked and suddenly it seems like such a stupid impasse. Esca buried his tongue in Marcus, in that private place, and yet he continues to look at Marcus with nothing but love and adoration. How is it reasonable that Marcus has not tried this, holding Esca inside himself as Esca has held him?

Marcus wraps his hand behind Esca’s neck and kisses him deep and long. The taste and the smell are a heady mix, of himself, of Esca, of Roman lavender and British soap: this is what they are together, undefined and perfect.

When Marcus pulls back from the kiss, Esca drops his gaze and closes his eyes, and that is the answer that Marcus has been looking for. Esca has wanted this, has wanted to feel Marcus around him. His smile is whisper-sweet as Esca says, “I will go slow, and likely it will be over soon.” He pauses. “I’ll get the oil.”

Esca plants open-mouthed kisses over Marcus’ chest before he lifts up, retrieving the stoppered ampoule from the floor, drizzling the oil over the tip of his cock and his first two fingers. Marcus turns a fraction onto his weaker side and lifts his left leg, holding it in place by hooking his forearm behind his knee. Esca, meanwhile, gently circles Marcus’ entrance before he slides in two fingers. The breach feels tight, but there is no pain. Marcus watches Esca working, like he does everything, quiet and focussed and it’s therefore unexpected when he withdraws his fingers, looking fragile and nervous, and says, “Ready?”

“Yes.” Marcus reaches for Esca to reassure him. “I won’t break.”

Esca shakes his head, laughs and pushes a pillow under Marcus’ hips. Marcus lets his head drop back, closes his eyes and murmurs soft sounds of encouragement. He knows he has to relax, that if he clenches and tenses, Esca will not be able to breach him easily. At the first nudge of Esca’s cock, he holds steady, breathes through it though his heart races in anticipation.

At first there is a sting, and it feels like Marcus can’t take it – he’s too tight, too tight. But Esca is holding Marcus’ calf. Esca’s mouth is there on him too, ghosting warm breath over Marcus’ skin and he’s whispering, something in his British tongue. Maybe it’s ionúin, _beloved,_ that he says over and over – Marcus can’t make it out clearly. Wanting him deeper, Marcus reaches for Esca's hips, pulls him closer until he’s full, so full and Esca’s hips are bumping right up to his backside. Buried to the hilt, Esca, his beloved Esca, is unmoving, looking downwards at where he’s deep inside Marcus.

“You can move, love.”

Esca seems to have lost the ability to speak. Marcus tries pushing back, as much as he can from his position, and at this Esca starts to move, slowly at first - shallow thrusts that Marcus can feel rubbing at his entrance. He’s already sensitive there and beyond that it’s breathtaking enough to be completely filled. He’s totally unprepared when Esca pauses, slides his thighs wider and jerks upwards, brushing against _that_ place inside: Marcus feels like he’s been catapulted to the stars. “Oh gods!”

“Too much?”

“Too much and not enough. Don’t stop, for the love of Mithras, don’t stop.”

Marcus doesn’t know whether to claw the furs or claw Esca. He pushes his head back as Esca speeds, each snap of his hips faster, deeper, harder. Every few thrusts he catches Marcus on that place deep inside, sparking hot sensation until Marcus feels his cock going half hard again. His raised leg trembles, as well as his arm, holding it there. Esca has sweat trickling from his temples; teeth gritted, nostrils flared. Marcus knows that look and when he feels Esca jerk and hears him groan, he knows he’s spent inside him.

Esca withdraws slowly and lowers Marcus’ leg to the bed. He silently gets the cloth from by the barrel and wipes up the crease of Marcus’ arse. Marcus shifts to help, pushing himself up, and as he does so feels the warm trickle of Esca’s come leaking from him. He takes the cloth and finishes the job – Esca has collapsed in the mound of thick fur beside him.

Marcus drags up a soft wool blanket, covering them both.

Esca looks wrecked, his eyes wet, as he says unsteadily, “Are you sore? Did I hurt you?”

“I am only a little sore, and it is a good ache.”

“Can I get anything for you?”

“No, nothing. Rest now.”

Marcus holds Esca to his chest and Esca holds Marcus tighter than he ever usually does. There are no tears but the feeling is as if there were.

Tomorrow they will push the barrel to the door and empty the water outside. After that, they will plough the far field and plant winter barley. Hopefully, the rain will hold off another day. Later, in the evening, they will wash away the dirt with water from the bucket and a soapy cloth.

Marcus savours every sting and ache, committing the sensations to memory. It might be another week before they will have time to fill the barrel again and bathe and linger over every inch of the other’s skin. They’ll make do, of course, with hurried fists and frantic rutting. But Marcus has been claimed and he will yearn for it to happen again, until the next time.

The thought sits easy in his chest, where his heart beats only for Esca.


End file.
